


Born by the Throat of the World

by NauticalNonsense



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Skyrim V, The Elder Scrolls - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Death, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, I'm Sorry, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inappropriate Humor, Loneliness, Lots of fucking angst, M/M, Multi, Murder Mystery, Murderers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, lots of blood and gore im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 13:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10764798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NauticalNonsense/pseuds/NauticalNonsense
Summary: this just came up from me thinking up random scenarios and backstories while I ran around the game getting my fucking asshole unfairly torn open.Ex.I am now the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood and we are now residing in the Dawnstar sanctuary. I need to run to the next town to grab a couple of ingredients, so I need to look normal. I change into a set of clothes carrying only the Blade of Woe and a 5 vials each of  health, stamina and magic potions.  I go out taking the "back door". Sudden intense music start up and I see a giant. No big deal? I'll just punch him with the sharp end of my knife and we'll be goo- *motherfucking elder dragon shows up* Uh.... I'll just let the giant and dragon duke it out. whoever is left standing with the least health I'll finish off an- *MOTHERFUCKING FROST TROLL SHOWS UP AND ATTACKS ME FROM BEHIND* *SOUND OF ME DYING ATTRACTS GIANT AND DRAGON* *ALL THREE START ATTACKING ME* *I die and respawn* *IT HAPPENED AGAIN GOD DAMN IT* *I die AGAIN and respawn* Oh, it's good! *starts walking the other way* *not long before I sEE THE GOD DAMN TRIO AGAIN* *MY SNEAKING DOES NOT WORK AND THE DRAGON NOTICES ME AS IT TAKES OFF INTO THE AIR* *SONS OF FUCKING TALOS** You get the point let's go





	1. Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl, a cell, and a statue of Mara...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgot to mention that I use mods and I'm trying to incorporate that into my stories as well, so for those of you who have the vanilla presets of skyrim and you don't know wtf I'm going on about, im so sorry

It was like the start of a bad joke.

So a girl wakes up in a cell, it's all quiet, save for the soft crackling of the torches on the wall and the sound of trickling water from a canal grate below... and it's empty, save for the statue of Mara nestled between a table and a bookshelf at the far wall.

No.

Let me reiterate.

A girl jolts awake with a scream as if she'd just been hit with a bolt of lightning. She sits up, parched and panting, clutching at her chest and face in confused terror. There's a tingling feeling all over her but she sees nothing, or rather, feels nothing, but her own skin sticky and damp from sweat. Hair matted down and sticking up in random places like large cowlicks. She kicks the hide blanket to the side as she slowly stood from the bed with the straw sticking to her rags and irritatingly poking through the loose threads, and poking at her legs with every step. She glanced around the dimly lit room with squinted eyes and a soft thumping at her temples to accompany. There were two lit torches in this room, one on the wall in between a table and a bookshelf, and one on the wall opposite near a grated door.

A grated door.

The girl quickly sobered and nodded as she remembered.

"That's right... I'm in a bloody cell..." she mutters under her breath as she turned away, rubbing clammy hands over her tired face.

She groaned and looked down at herself. Covered in dirt, sweat, and bits of straw. She walked to a corner where a couple of barrels sat clumped together, and a metal pitcher sat above one of them. She grabbed the pitcher and lifted it as hard as she could, incidentally flipping the light tin over her head. She stared at it in hard confusion as if it had just called her a whore. It was empty. Usually the guards were in here to fill up the hub before she'd woken up, and there'd be the hustle and bustle of bickering between jailers and inmates. But now that she'd took to noticing, it was oddly quiet, almost eerie. Obviously there was water trickling through the canals under the metal grates in the walls, and the soft crackling of fire, but there were no organic noises. No snoring of young guards who'd fallen asleep on their shift, no snorting of inmates swallowing filth from their nostrils, no clanging on the cell bars, no laughter from drunken jesting. Not a damn thing. She set the pitcher down and, for some reason, cautiously crept back to the front of the room, slowly peeking her head from behind the wall and at her cell door. There was nobody, yet the candles and sconces were all lit up. It was as if everybody had up and left. The girl walked up to the door with slight worry and pushed at it, but it only clanged against the bricks that it was locked within. 

She pressed her face in one of the spaces in between the bars and called out in a whisper, "Madej?"

Eyes darting back and forth up the stairs expecting a young, redhaired guard to pop his head up like a rabbit. She waited, and waited, and still, all there was to hear were the torches and the water rushing through the canals. She licked her chapped lips and cleared her throat, calling out a little louder this time.

"Yisamyr! You awake, old dog?" she called out to an inmate, and still, no answer.

She opened her mouth again to yell but stopped when there was a soft thud behind her. Heart pounding in her chest and ears, she expected Madej or one of the guards to be sneaking up behind her to scare her, but when she turned around there was nobody. Then her eyes caught the rustic golden figure against the wall and her heart nearly dropped out of her arse. There was a statue of Mara sitting idly underneath the torch in between the table and bookshelf. Had that been there the entire time, she wondered. Had she been too groggy to notice at first, and too panicked to realise? Maybe. But as she walked over and stood in front of it, she could feel a faint humming from it. She stared at those sad empty eyes, and the features of the goddess contorted into a teary sorrow and felt a nagging feeling in the back of her head as if to kneel and pray. The girl was by no means religious nor had she any religious background that she could remember. She glanced behind her into the corner of barrels to make sure nobody had hidden there while she wasn't looking, and slowly knelt down in front of the statue. It looked and felt so much larger as the girl knelt. She bowed her head with closed eyes and reached out to place her hand upon the bowl when she heard a woman's voice, clear as any day, echo in the cell.

"Approach, my child."

She screamed and fell onto her back. Frightened and panicked, chasing shadows across the walls and frantically turning and glancing in every way for the person. Thinking that somebody had indeed, played her for a fool. That a guard was indeed hiding all the while waiting for her to let her guard down, and when she saw nobody, she thought that it was her own conscience that had spoken to her. Her own voice manifesting in her mind to reassure her. She laughed and ran her hands through her hair. 'I must be going mad,' she thought.

"Do not fear, girl. For my light shines brightly on you, and I hear your call. Approach me," said the voice again.

But this time it sounded almost contained. It was still in the cell with her, but it was smaller. She stared at the statue, disbelief, horror, confusion, a mix of emotions and feeling as if she was going to wet herself. She knelt down in front of the statue, and with shaky hands, gave it a quick knock in the head. The girl took a deep breath and slapped the statue on the shoulder, drawing her hand away quickly as if it was fire she touched. But it was solid. Solid gold or copper or whatever metal it was made of. A solid statue, not painted flesh. Not a disguise.

"How curious, yet rude. Though I am not surprised. Not many expect to hear a god answering their prayers in their time of need. But I heard you, my dear. I heed your plea. I am real, and this is no dream. I, as you may already know, am Mara. Goddess of the Nine Divines, the Handmaiden of June, Mother Goddess, and many more to many others. Now tell me, what is it you pray for?" the voice said.

The girl blinked, still staring at the statue, mouth slightly agape. For a goddess, she is very forward, and if the girl had noticed, slightly impatient. She guessed that she goes through this a lot, and has no time for dilly-dallying as she probably has more prayers to answer. The wide-eyed girl swallowed to wet her parched throat and whispered, still slightly in awe, "I-I-I would like to escape this-this place, please."

After a moment of silence, the voice asked, "What is your name?"

The girl, thinking that Mara would bless her, mustered up small courage and said, "Eir, your holy-ness. Daughter of... uh... I don't remember." She furrowed her eyebrows. She couldn't remember. How could she not remember?

"So be it, Eir." Said the goddess, almost as if she was nodding.

Then there was a clunking sound on the table. When the girl stood to look, there were now lockpicks in a cup upon the table, still twirling as if somebody had just set them down then. She looked back to the statue. She couldn't feel the humming anymore, nor could she feel that tugging feeling from earlier. All the feelings were gone just as soon as it had come. She wouldn't question it anymore and, taking another breath and steeling her thoughts, she grabbed the lockpicks and started for the cell door. Making quick work of the old lock, the soft click of the release sounded like music to her ears. With a slow stretch of her arm, she pushed the door open, staring a top the stairs still expecting a guard to come running down the stairs for her. The door softly groaned under its own weight as it was swung open. Finally, a second chance! A second chance at life- at freedom! A second chance for forgiveness, maybe.

Walking up the stairs she expected... well, Ara didn't know what to expect. Emptiness? An easy way out? Apparently, that was not to be. At her feet, by the table, was a corpse. A pale, stinky, bloated mess of green and blue rotted flesh. Flies swooping and reveling in the poor sod's decaying, bubbling flesh and muscle that was now made to be an all-you-can-eat feast hall for these troublesome insects and the maggots they laid. Eir had seen her fair share of corpses and draugrs so this hadn't phased her in the least, and instead piqued her curiosity. Who were they, what happened, and how long had it been for this man to turn into this?


	2. The Difference

Born in the cradle of winter with skin like tanned wood, small eyes filled with frost as white as the winter consuming the lakes, and hair as pale as the snows atop the Throat of the World, the child was considered many things.

It was a wonderful curiosity. The mother and father were of common image, and here they were blessed with a child not their own face, but something more beautiful. How Mother wept with joy and Father proudly boasted to everybody of his beautiful baby girl, Priests and Priestesses clap with joy as they see a beautiful child, a spitting image of Dibella, that she could be the goddess in human incarnation even. A child blessed with the utmost beauty that it would make even the vainest of people look upon their reflections with ordinary complexity. She was loved by many.

Then there are those who whisper in the dark corners, the many that say that it shouldn't be. A child born with dark skin and fair hair whilst the mother and father were both of fair skin and dark eyes and hair? It wasn't supposed to be so. Religious fanatics slam their fists on tables as they scream, "a _bomination!_ " They say that the child was a curse, a plague born unto their people- her family.

"A failed attempt by the Daedric Princes at creation!! How low, these copy-cats! To take a child of Nirn and contort it into such a being! It needs to go back to where it came from, let it be reborn from the true hands of nurturing and creation! Scorch her within the flames of Arkay's love!" They scream.

"She should be rid of now before she grows up a witch and turns our village into an abhorrent hagraven's nest! Or worse,"

And so she was. Her family was driven out of their home with threats that the people would burn them alive in their own houses if they didn't get rid of the "plague," and that they could only return home after they've done so. They chose to leave with what they can and never return. Mother, Father, and their little snowdrop.

Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months, the family spent their time traveling by caravan alongside Khajiit merchants who have come a long way from Elsweyr to live freely. Oh, the irony of a law of living freely, yet this one small difference in the fabric of time, that couldn't even yet open its eyes to Akatosh's light, couldn't be accepted to be born freely into the world by her own people.

"Ah, how the winds in Skyrim tastes different than of our home. It is as if you can eat the cold, crisp air itself. It saddens to say, that this one prefers the land here than that of my own," said the Khajiit called Ko'Viirah. She was tall with eyes a glowing yellow as if she had captured the sun's bountiful rays and kept them there. Her hide was steel gray with splotches of white covering her arms and legs and trailing down the bridge of her nose.

Apart from her, there was the wise elderly Dra'Sheva, who took care of the little snowdrops when business was to be had. Her coat was a pure white that seemed as if filth and dirt had no business ever wanting to touch her. Ko'Viirah's twin sister Do'Jiirra, a self-trained warrior alongside a once lone Khajiit that they met alongside the roads that goes by Do'Sajgvahr, and her husband and brother by marriage, Ri'Zjahhak and Do' Kharjgar. Twins. Both are of light brown coating and darker brown stripes along their bodies and faces. The only difference in them is their voices and eyes.

"Ah, but it was his eyes that caught my heart," Ko'Viirrah had told the Mother as they sat around the warmth of their small fire. "How the clear blue reminds me of the large ocean that we sailed. Deep and full of beautiful mystery, yet shimmering and gentle as the light of the sun plays upon them. It gives me chills still whenever I gaze upon them in the night."

How this moved the Mother's own heart that it made her look upon her own child's eyes. The little darling smiled up at her with big eyes and a toothless grin, little hands reaching up to her with a twinkling laughter completely free and untouched by the world's malignant, bloody fingers.

"You have yet to name the little one, no? The name is what makes the person. It holds our power and existence, it is the beginning and the end of us. How you are Deana, mother to the winter-born, and I am Dra'Sheva, wise elder of a clan that once was. The name is what gives life to our Voice as we stand and break free from conforming to society's hold." said Dra'Sheva next to her.

The mother looked up at the elderly Khajiit with kind, tired eyes before looking back down at her child. It closed its eyes tightly as it let out a squeaky yawn.

"I... am not yet ready. Perhaps soon, but for the moment, I would like her to be my little snowdrop."

"Then the little snowdrop will remain a mystery," said the elder Khajiit as she slid from her place next to Deana and into one of the tents surrounding their camp fire.

The little child's eyes wandered from her mother's tired face and looked to the sky, and so too did Deana, following her baby's gaze and thought, 'what a blessed night.' With cloudless skies and twinkling stars, that beautiful, eerie veil of colours had appeared stretching across Tamriel's skies. With hues of green and pinks and streaks of violets undulating together like a ghostly ribbon.

Then as if the land had been struck, a calamitous boom echoed in the child's ears and a violent shaking had begun, and the sound of shouting and men's voices could be heard, yet her mother, her expression so serene and content, had gone unbothered. The babe let out a soft cry as the skies and all its lights and wonder began to fade, and her mother's warmth along with it, and the cold began to creep in and she cried. Fingers so cold they burned to the touch. First they reached her hands - so small, and delicate, and frail. Reaching out for whatever inkling of safety there is to reach for in the cold void. Then her feet, powerful and kicking, yet at the sudden lick of the cold they withdrew as quickly as a deer runs across the forests away from hunters. Then up her belly, slow and menacing, like the a wolf stalking travelers in forest roads.

Then, creeping still, up her neck. What was once so full of laughter was now smothered, choking against the frigid frost as it stole the air from its lungs so greedily...

Then upon her face, so innocent and so full of fear it hurt...

And that was when it all stopped.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if my writing of this fic doesn't make much sense. I'm having a bit of a writers block and I'm trying to get rid of it by actually writing and adding to it. Also if you have stuff to say, criticism is very much welcome. Preferably constructive criticism. It is very much welcome.
> 
> Wanted. It's wanted.
> 
> Needed... I very much need it. :')


End file.
